"Thou dost speak with such scorn," Blackthorn's father chided, "yet everything that thou and thy peers have asked is contained therein. Lord Windemere is to be escorted to Castle Britannia by the Royal Guard. There he shall serve a sentence of life imprisonment within Lord British's own dungeons. I am surprised that thou didst not hear of this earlier."

"Thou knowest that we did not," Ipocrisis snarled. "Thou art truly malicious, Blackthorn."

"That accusation, I shall denounce, Councilor," Shaana's father said. "Despite all that has transpired, the Lord Mayor has unselfishly renounced his decision about Windemere's fate. And yet thou dost still accuse him of malevolence. Mark my words, Councilor, what thou hast just said will not go unheard of back in Yew. When the time comes again to cast votes for thee as Yew's representative upon the Great Council, be assured that mine and many others will be absent."

Ipocrisis shrank back, and the captain jerked his hand toward the wagon. His men jumped into it, and quickly released the prisoner from his cage, if not his shackles. They brought him over to his family, where his son embraced him. Windemere looked up to his wife, whose eyes were filled with tears. "I am not certain about what thou didst for me," he said, solemnly. "I can only hope that thou didst believe it to be just. However, some actions can never be justified. Trust me on this matter. I know." Windemere shivered and closed his eyes, as if trying to repress his memories. He faced Blackthorn's father, his eyes dull from strain and exhaustion but full of clarity. "I accepted thine original penance, Lord Mayor, and found it just. Thou didst always know that. 'Twas my family and friends that did not."

"And perhaps they were right in doing so," the Lord Mayor said. He beckoned the guards to take their place around the prisoner and pointed at the moongate. "I have made arrangements. The Royal Guard awaits thee on the other side. They will escort thee to Lord British."

"Lord British. He is a fair and virtuous man, nothing short of an Avatar," Windemere said, "and not unlike thyself. I hope that my family doth learn something from thine actions." He then glanced at the boy Blackthorn. "Perhaps they will learn from thy son, as well. I overheard thy conversation. Wise words from one so young. Thou hast taught him well." He faced the silvery-haired youth who started to glare at the boy Blackthorn. "Do not despise him, son. He did nothing to thee or thy mother. If anything, I have a feeling that it was he who may have saved me." Windemere's son said nothing, only lowered his gaze. Windemere then addressed his wife. "The captain will accompany thee, our son, and the Councilor back to Yew. There thou shalt tell the rest of the family the good news. Then I ask that thou dost visit me in Castle Britannia. It shall be my home for quite some time."

The Lady Windemere could not say a word. 'Twas as if she could not avert her eyes from him, this man whose true name she had only come to know in the past year, the name she had taken as her own to prove that she would stand by him despite his past. Not an evil woman, the boy Blackthorn thought, just a woman in love.

After kissing his wife, Windemere centered himself between two of the guards. The boy's father handed the scroll to the prisoner, then instructed the guards to escort Windemere through the gate. The moongate grew brighter, hummed, set prickles across the boy Blackthorn's skin. He blinked uncertainly as a circle of light swirled up around the three men. The hum grew louder, the light brighter. The three men became silhouettes against the brilliant curtain . . .

His father faced the Lady Windemere, who continued to watch the three men disappear.

Silhouettes, then shadows, melting away . . .

"Thy husband shall not be executed—in accordance with Britannian law," he assured her.

Melting away, drawn away . . .

"Thy revenge against Nyomae shall always remain . . . unjust."

Drawn away, into . . .

* * *